Triptych
by Candy Apple Heart Attack
Summary: Pursued by the supporters of Kira, L's successors find themselves gathered with a mutual need to flee. Finally working together, old "partnerships" resurface and the lines between the associates blur into something all too different. Mello x Near x Matt.
1. Prologue

**Author's Note:** Hey, guys, it's Chip! I'm here, updating on this warm Saturday evening (or rather, Sunday morning) to give you this. "Triptych" was never meant for publication on but I gave in to a certain someone's advice and am posting it up anyway. It's not meant to be a full story or anything like that, though I admit I have started writing a second part to it. Mostly, it's supposed to be a particular event in the Deathnote timeline, with Mello, Near and Matt interacting all at once. Yes, it's got some slashy contextual shit going on, but there's nothing too explicit (in this part anyway). If I get some good feedback, I'll consider adding the "part two" as a second chapter, here. So, please read and let me know what you think, alright?

Enjoy!

* * *

"Triptych" 

The mob of people was amassing outside the SPK Headquarters, the swirling black, hooded cloaks of Kira devotees intermixing with the common clothing of normal everyday people. The news was out and all of Kira's supporters were taking up the call to arms.

_"Kill the blasphemers! Destroy them and earn Lord Kira's special favor!"_

The morning started peaceful enough, but then the Sakura TV anchor came on and told everyone that there was some kind of movement against Kira; that there were terrorists organizations bent on the removal of Kira-sama.

_"Destroy the unbelieving wretches!"_

They gave out the locations then. A base in slums of Tokyo, where only the most dangerous of criminals would tread without fear. Another base, a warehouse, along the docks.

And the final space, the SPK Headquarters in downtown Tokyo. The tall glass skyscraper--an ominous sentinel on the horizon of Kira's favorite city. Mobs formed; they marched through the city--to the docks and the slum--with knives, bats, guns and any other weapons they could find.

_"Kira-sama! Allow us to aid you in this! We will prove our devotion to you, by destroying the infidels who dare to doubt your divine grace! Kira-kami!"_

The base on the docks was doused in gasoline pilfered from the shipyard and set ablaze. The slum's hideout was ransacked, looted and the men found there killed under the crush of the mob's power. That building, too, was on fire.

The firefighters were busy, said the dispatchers, and would be along to put out the fires at some time. Eventually.

It seemed that, in the midst of Kira-loving Tokyo, there was no place for two fugitive heirs to run. Except, perhaps, to the one person they would have rather died than admit to needing.

The one person they avoided.

But it was either their pride this time, or their lives.

Oh, this was going to be _fun_.

* * *

So, apparently, it was all a game to them. What started as a mission to retrieve Kira's weapon turned into a fucking power-play between two kids too dumb--or rather, too intelligent--to leave well enough alone. It would go on forever, this game of theirs. They'd been playing for as long as they'd been together. Childhood. Teenism. And even now, on the cusp of _real_ adulthood.

It was, at once, both so funny and so irritating that Matt wanted to laugh until he choked. Both their missions were blown--retrieving the Deathnote _and_ cornering the bastard Kira--and it was entirely the result of two squabbling brats.

"Just so you gentlemen know, I think this is, undoubtedly, the biggest fuck up either of you has ever gotten us mucked in." Taking a drag on his cigarette produced a single orange-red star, reflected in the double-lenses of his goggles. The burgundy-auburn bangs hanging down into his face didn't disguise the way his lips crooked at the corners with aggravated disdain. Or was it amusement?

Mello's gaze slid over his cousin and friend before rolling away exaggeratedly. "Oh shut up, Matt." His gloved fingers fiddled with the end of his rosary, rolling the cross between them, back and forth. The glass-jewel beads caught the dim light of the computer screens and refracted it; the glow flashed white-blue in the darkness. Like mirrors catching liquid ice.

Or rather, like Near's gaze as he watched them passively, his relaxed posture on the floor saying more than enough about his opinion on their current circumstance. To Matt's comment and Mello's response, he cocked his head, fingers twirling in his own bangs.

"Surely, you're not implying that either Mello or myself planned for this?"

Matt shrugged, exhaling a breath as he removed the cigarette from between his lips momentarily. He examined the ember idly. "What I'm saying--not _implying_ Near--is that despite the severity, danger, insanity and general mayhem of the usual interactions between you and Mello, this is _by far_ the most heinous. What the hell _possesses_ you guys?" He glanced back and forth between them. From opposite sides of the room, Mello and Near watched each other.

The silence was heavy with the lack of an answer.

Finally, Mello was the first to break the gag. "Pfft. He's a little ghost _prick_. It's not my fault I have the compulsion to kill him. He incites it, with his mere presence."

One perfectly thin, white eyebrow rose in reaction. "Oh? Do I?" Near's gaze flickered downward, from Mello's blue-grey eyes, to the dangling, toyed-with rosary; from Mello's bared navel and exposed hips to that area just a view inches further. There was a certain way, a motion, in which Near twirled his hair then; how he paused, momentarily, then begin to curl it more slowly, sensually. Like he was savoring it. His eyes remained there a moment longer, then slowly--too slowly--slid upward again to meet the blonde's furious blue-grey gaze.

"Is that the only thing I incite with my presence?"

Matt threw his arm out casually, catching hold of Mello's vest before the other man could make it any further in what would have been, undoubtedly, a head-long charge to the death. Near's.

"Damnit, Mel, if you don't behave, I'm gonna kick your ass. He gets you every time with that damned shit and you fall for it. _Fuck,_" Matt sighed in exasperation. "If you two would just get it on already, I'd be _all-too-fucking-pleased_--and the rest of the world with me."

Mello blushed.

Near's lips turned upward, mockingly.

"I have noticed, Matthew, that your use of expletives has increased significantly since your exodus from Home."

It was Matt's turn to raise a brow. "Well _fuck_ Near--have you ever heard Mel when he's pissed? It would take a fucking saint to keep a clean mouth after four years with him." Behind his goggles, Matt's hazel-brown eyes gave Mello an appreciative once over, deliberately; then he smiled, casting the crook of his lips to Near.

"And I'm _far_ from a saint, you know?"

Mello turned and slugged Matt on the shoulder, deadening the whole arm with his strength before turning away. The redhead switched his cigarette to his other hand and let the dead arm hang, knowing from experience that feeling would return in a minute or so.

There was silence as the many monitors around them continued to show a live feed of the chaos outside. Still, the mob had yet to breach the outer fortifications of the deceptively fragile-looking building. The sly curve of Near's lips said they wouldn't, ever.

Finally, just when the silence was getting to be oppressive, a monitor to Near's immediate right made a sound and the display changed to reveal the face of a man. Commander Rester made a disgruntled sound when the camera showed him who, exactly, Near was holding company with. "Well, I suppose there's no need to inform you what's going on in the city then. Apparently, you've been targeted by the Kira devotees." It was unclear whether he was speaking to Near or to the three boys in general, but it didn't particularly matter. It was true for all of them.

"Have you completed the preliminary details as I instructed?"

"Yes, sir."

"Good," Near said, rising to his feet. Mello's eyes darted to him quickly, shocked by the rare sight of the ghostly boy-man standing upright; Matt, who had seen it more than his share in the past, didn't bat an eyelash.

"Is there anything else you'll be needing, Near?"

White-blue eyes flickered upward. "Ah, yes, thank you. If you'd be so kind as to send word ahead, discreetly of course, that I'll be dropping in? I wouldn't want to be a burden on our host."

The expression on Rester's face could have been described in no less than twenty words even if the room was playing facility to three of the most intelligent, learned minds in the world since their predecessor. It was an expression of resigned duty and of disgruntled pride; of disgust and exhilaration.

His words, when he spoke, weren't even _vaguely_ neutral. "It's _your_ house, Near. Why call ahead at all?"

Near's facial features were stark white and sharp in the light of the monitor; his eyes seemed almost like glass, staring out at Rester. "Please don't make me repeat myself, Rester. It is not your place to question my decision."

The big man's head bowed, though only in the slightest. "Yes, Near. Rester, out." The monitor flickered, returning to the video feed of the Kira-mob outside in the city streets. Somehow, it appeared that a pair of helicopters had joined the effort; television news-channel logos were stamped on their shiny hulls.

"Well, it appears it's time to go." Near turned slowly on his heel, pivoting to face both Matt and Mello, who stood together, unmoving in the darkness beyond the glow of the monitors. Near's shadow, cast by the light source behind him, stretched the distance to them. He reached out a hand, lazily--deliberately--and watched as his shadow reached out to touch the very toe of Matt's boots.

The redhead, not unaware of Near's simple trick, cocked his head. "Where is it, exactly, that you _think_ we're going?" He took another drag of his cigarette. "Keep in mind that we haven't agreed to anything."

Near gave them a blank look. "My plan involves getting away from this place, before the television coverage becomes so frenzied as to make a quiet departure impossible. I have a safe house, outside of Japan. In England, actually."

Matt's brow went up. "England? You don't think that's a little...predictable? It's not all that hard to dig up information on the orphanage; surely, someone's going to check for us there."

"We wouldn't be returning to Wammy's. In fact, Winchester is a fair distance from where we'll be. I've already put Roger on alert. Wammy's will be protected and will remain so until such time as we've eliminated Kira."

Mello made a sound, planting his hands on his hips. "What's all this '_we'_ stuff? I never agreed to go along with you; neither did Matt! No way in hell I'd _choose_ to work with you!" He sneered, "Fucking ghost-shrimp, can't see in the dark, queer-as-fuck munchkin."

Near smiled, easily taking the insult. "You've always been so creative with your commentary on my appearance, Mello; I think I might have been missing that." He turned a little, watching them from the corner of his eye. "Also, by way of explanation, let me just say that you really didn't choose to work with me--and you won't--because you have _no_ choice. It is what L wanted and I will ensure that his will be done."

"What the hell, brat?!"

"Now, now," Near mothered, "settle down." He gestured abstractly into the air. "You gave me your implied consent when you came to me--to my headquarters and to my place, personally--and I take that very much to heart. You don't have another option, Mello, so please don't press me. I'm rather not in the mood to start a prolonged argument with you so early into our partnership."

"Partnership?" Mello sputtered, looking at a loss. Then, almost desperately, he glanced at his cousin. "Matty, tell him he's a fucking prick! Tell him we didn't agree!"

Matt's head was cocked at an angle, surveying the pale form across the way and the very fine way the monitors gave him a white halo. "Hm, I think we're going to be taking a trip, Mel. Near's got the right idea."

The punch caught him off guard, but it was such normal thing between them, the causal violence, that Matt hardly blinked. He stumbled a step to the right before catching his balance; in that instant, Mello was in his face, blue-grey eyes boring into his.

"What the _fuck_, Matt?" His whisper was a furious gust of wind between their lips, only inches apart. "You're taking _Near's_ side?" His golden hair was disheveled from all the times he ran his hands through it on the way here; now, his bangs were falling into his eyes like angry thunderbolts.

"I'm not taking anyone's side, Mello." Matt kept his voice down, in an effort to reassure his cousin. "I've just considered all the facts and honestly, our best chance at making all this muck-up right is to go with Near. Besides," he said pragmatically, in a louder voice, "If you really think about it, this is all your two's fault anyway."

Near nodded, "I don't deny it."

Though his right eye twitched with irritation, Mello seemed to have a hold on his temper now. He shifted. "Tch. Whatever. We've got our good reasons."

"And some bad ones," Matt added for him.

Across the room, Near began to walk away. "Well come on then. I've arranged for our escape already. Below ground, there's a shuttle that will deliver us to the main utility tube of the Underground here. From there, we will take the tube to the Airport, where my private jet will take us overseas." He motioned toward the miniature models on the play-space in front of the monitors. Mello snorted.

"Still playing with planes and trains, huh?"

Near paused, mid-step. He didn't look over his shoulder, but stood, one delicate socked foot poised half-off the ground. "Yes, Mello, I very much enjoy my entertainments. I, however, do not make a habit of playing with dangerous toys." He let the pause drag, then finished. "Unlike you, of course."

"I don't play with anything I can't handle, brat."

"Really?" Near _did_ glance over his shoulder this time, a small smirk playing about his lips. "I wonder what your basis for comparison is, then."

Fists clenched at the implication that he was less capable of handling himself than he seemed, Mello started after the younger boy; Matt didn't stop him. He loomed over Near in an instant, though the kid didn't give an inch. It didn't matter. Mello had always been taller than Near; now, he towered nearly a foot over him.

"Now listen here," he said, staring into Near's ice-cool eyes. "You've played this game with me for _years_ brat and I want you to know right now that there's not a fucking force on this _planet_ that's going to take Matt from me. Never." He growled the word, denying the power of the Fates over him. "And for you to think, even in the barest moment of your delusions, that I'm going to let you seduce him out from under me, then you're fucking _insane_."

That white-blue gaze honed onto his own and bored in. "Really, Mello, you overestimate my devious nature. I'm fairly sure I don't _have_ one, actually."

Mello's eyes narrowed.

"However," Near continued, "I feel I must point out that the past is the past. What was once between us is, like you love to say, '_fucking forgotten_'." A grimace flashed across the blonde's lips as he tasted those long-ago syllables once more.

"Furthermore, I feel the need to remind you that it was _Matt_ who wooed _me_ last time. Right out from under _you_." His lips were cruel. "See, for _us_, it was never about the sex."

The unspoken words hung in the air between them. They said "Like it was for you" and made Mello's throat burn.

Matt's lips twitched upward at one corner.

"Tch. Whatever. _Dick._" As abruptly as the summer sky changes from storm to shine, he's smirking with an easy grace and sauntering away, to stand beside Matt. He tried to look carefree, keeping his smirk in place, but both Matt and Near were unconvinced by this.

They knew Mello like no one else could dare to claim; and Mello _hated_ that.

"Now then," Near smiled, "On we go." He walked forward, out into the little recessed area of the floor that was all very Asian despite the fact that Near himself was English-raised.

The shoes by the door way seemed oddly out of place, but like everything else Near was wearing, they appeared perfectly ordinary. Only now did the nature of Near's clothing become apparent to the other two. Light-blue jeans and a button down shirt in--what else?--white, though it was untucked. His hair was messy, but passable as sleep-and-wear; furthermore, there were no toys in hand.

Mello and Matt paused to put on their own shoes, while Near's--a pair of loosely laced sneakers so as to allow him to slide them on--were already on his feet. While he laced his boots tightly, Mello kept an eye to the toys on the peripheral of his vision.

Near had made no move to retrieve them, nor pack them.

It seemed that Matt noticed also.

"You're not bringing your toys." It was a statement, not a question.

"Yes, I've decided to leave them behind." There was a sort of resignation in Near's voice. "They're too numerous to carry and it would seem very odd if we were to go trooping through the Underground carrying a jolly-big bag like St. Nicholas. That would only serve to delay us and attract unwanted attention."

"Understandable and correct," Matt said, "But what about..._that_ toy?" All three knew which toy Matt was referring to; Near had never been without it at Wammy's. It was a part of him.

"Ah, yes, Mr. Justice. He's in a comfortably padded box, shipped under 'fragile' and 'express' to our destination. I didn't want to risk damaging him during the escape." He glanced at Matt, "I had not thought you would remember him."

Mello gave a dry half-laugh. "Who could forget him? That's the only time I'd ever seen you on your feet, that day. That fight." He shook his head, "Pietr was never the same."

A nod. "That was my intention. He should have respected the rule. No one touches what is mine." HIs gaze flickered over both Matt _and_ Mello; his lips quirked. "Now, trusting that I have everything of irreplaceable value, would you please follow me?"

He didn't wait for their answer. He was already half-way through the door leading out to the steel-lined hall. Matt went first, watching as Near absent-mindedly entered a code into the wall's keypad; the monitors all throughout the room went dark and three times, a sharp beep peeped in the silence.

"A network crash," he guessed.

"Of course. I have already sent all prudent information elsewhere. I will retrieve it when we reach our destination."

"Yea, yea," Mello said, "Let's get going, before I change my mind."

The other two glanced at him, but said nothing. Let Mello believe he had a choice in the matter. Despite the circumstance. Despite Near's words.

Matt knew better.

"Of course," the white-haired boy said. They followed him out and the sliding doors shut behind them, the heavy-sounding locks slamming into place.

It was only as they walked further down the hall and took the elevator down that Mello finally realized that Near was standing quite normally; hands in his pockets, with a slight slouch of the shoulders. It was all too familiar, of course, but weren't they all like that? Little snapshots and aspects of their predecessor.

With just that _little _flaw, the one that forced them together. The same one that ripped them apart, six years ago.

That little flaw.

L worked alone, a solitary solution to the world's multitude of problems. He lived alone. Worked alone. Died alone.

They, the three copies, were imperfect impressions of the original.

They _could_ work alone--but together, they were _better _than L ever could be.

And _that_ was their sin.


	2. Chapter One

**Chip:**Alright, so for clarification guys--this is a story I'm writing every now and then, in my free time, when I get inspired by some random bit of Deathnote-fangirly-ness. You'll have to forgive me. I know the status says 'complete' but that's just because I don't people asking me for updates all the time. If I write anymore, I promise, I'll post it. I'm a review whore so anything I can get, I'll take. Hmm, once again, the warning. I don't own Deathnote, at all, because if I did--this is how the story would have turned out. Mello, Matt and Near, all together, all sleeping together, all the time. Beware the slash. It's below.

* * *

**Triptych**

Chapter One

_Fingers caressing over bare, pale hips. Nails tracing the network of barely-there blue veins showing under skin smoother than porcelain. So much about this boy was like porcelain..._

_Pale, breakable..._

_...made from the clay of the Earth and forged under fire..._

_...and all the more delicate for it._

_- - -_

The escape from Kira's supporters went flawlessly, without a hitch. None of them mentioned it, but really, there'd never been a doubt that it would work. It was Near's plan and Near was, by far, the strategist between them.

The trip on the secret shuttle to the main underground train in Tokyo was silent and tense, more so out of Mello's general displeasure then any real fear of ambush or capture. The japanese transportation system was famous for its near-perfect time and Near used that; they stepped out of the utility terminal and out onto the main platform, just as the tide of passengers was beginning to flow inward. No one looked them over, not even once. What could be strange about three young men riding the train?

It was too packed and their clothes weren't nearly that outrageous in the main stream populace. No one chanced to glance at them.

From there, it was a short jaunt through crowded streets and cross-walks to the airport. Mello's long legs led the way, his fierce eyes scaring aside jumpier pedestrians who dared step just a second too slow or an inch closer than they should; Matt kept up with his easily, well-used to his manner of parting the sea.

It was Near who caught Matt's attention though, what with his unusual venture into the public. Occasionally, he found himself risking a hurried peek over his shoulder to check on the smallest member of this mismatched squad. Still, he shouldn't have been surprised. Despite his reclusive nature, Near was thin and lithe; he moved through the crowd with mid-range strides and the look of someone who contemplated everything and nothing at once.

The airport was a hive of activity, backdropped by the blur of motion on every side and the soundtrack of roaring engines breaking the air between their blades. Here, despite his natural inclination to lead, Mello faltered. The blonde had taken them from the commercial and domestic terminals to the mouth of the private one, but from there, he could only guess.

Fingers brushed imperceptibly over Matt's ungloved hand, hanging at his side, as Near ghosted by him. There might have been the slightest of a crook to the boy's lips as he stepped in front of Mello smoothly--without hesitation--to take the lead. The snowy genius took three steps and disappeared behind a sudden wall of foot-traffic from some concession stand.

Matt grabbed Mello's forearm and tucked the seething blonde along after him.

It took another five minutes to reach the furthest gate in the terminal, one that was nearly empty, but for the tall stewardess standing by the rope. Near approached her immediately, his hands in his pockets to fish out a few papers.

The stewardess smiled kindly, took the papers and went to the computer behind the desk-station. She typed rapidly, glancing at the papers casually.

Mello was startled to realize that it was Linder under all that navy-blue cotton and polyester. The chignon she pulled her hair into looked rather severe and completely altered her appearance.

Matt leaned in, casually, to whisper in Mello's ear. "Isn't that...the chick he's got on his staff?"

Mello blinked once, "Yea."

The red-head nodded, "You've got history." It wasn't a question, it was a statement. Matt knew how Mello got his initial intel on Near; he was fine with it. He shrugged one shoulder, shifting the material of his shirt, "She's pretty enough."

"And a mean-spirited woman, at the core." Near was suddenly at their side again, though how he moved so quickly and so silently was beyond either of his associates. He gave them a sly crook of the lips, "But that's what makes her particularly good at her job."

"Oh, and what job is that? Whoredom?" Mello asked, non-too-quietly as they were beckoned forward by the disguised agent. She held the velvet rope away to make a path. Mello sneered at her briefly--and as such, completely missed the half-smile on Near's lips.

Linder's eyes cut toward Mello like the lethal edges of a dagger coated in phosphorous-green flames. She said nothing, though, and Near made no move to intercede between the two blondes.

Mello smirked, victorious, as they slipped down the walkway and onto the tarmac.

The roar of engines from the other end of the airport was slightly lessened here, but for how long that respite would last, Matt couldn't say. He walked a half-step behind Mello, his hand pushing at the other man's lower-back every so often.

Matty had sensitive ears, don't ya know?

The twin-engine jet was sleek and silver, marked by the commercial logo of Near's biggest front company. A fashion mogul. Who'd of thought it of this brat?

Of course, his name was only on the paper-work and on the checks, and it was all pseudonyms anyway. No one was ever going to link the successor "N" to Nathaniel Le-Bleux, the President of L-Ucrative Fashions.

Matt had laughed when he hacked his way through the encryptions to find that tidbit; he laughed again now, under his breath. In jeans and an untucked-botton-down, Near was anything _but_ fashionable.

They were on the plane in a moment, the interior unremarkable in its theme of white, gray and navy blue. The seats looked comfortable though, and were. Mello threw himself down into the first one he saw--too close to the front wall but next to a window.

Matt stood, looking Near over as the boy paused in the doorway to wait for--in theory--Linder, the stewardess.

"You have a private jet and a clear lane. You _must_ have a flight-plan as well." Matt raised an eyebrow, "That's a loose end, ya know."

Near nodded, "It is indeed, except that it is _not_." A shrug of thin shoulders, "Forged flight-plans and a certain system of cloaking will be employed. We won't be followed, nor will it be possible to track us at a later date."

"Ah," the red-head said, understanding. "Fakes all around, then?"

"Indeed."

"Well done, brat."

Near bowed his head, imperceptibly.

"_Fuck Matt_," Mello growled, "Could you be anymore of a kiss-ass? Just come over here and sit the fuck down, already. Leave the twerp to his shit, 'kay?" He was slumped in his seat, his leather-clad legs thrown wide with one boot planted on the floor and the other on the wall.

Matt's eyes slid heatedly over those long legs and the juncture between them.

Mello's face heated, but he didn't look away.

Near _might _have rolled his eyes as Matt sauntered away.

"Oh, honestly," the youngest said under his breath.

But he didn't complain any louder. Linder the Stewardess--and, incidentally, the Captain of this vessel--appeared a moment later, two flight-plans in hand. She nodded at Near, eyes forward, and then disappeared into the control cabin, shutting the door behind her.

Near took his seat as well, several aisles to the rear of the plane, with empty space all around him. He sat in his usual fashion, with one leg raised to rest on the edge of his seat, the other hanging free. The fingers of one hand curled in his hair; the other hand rested in his lap, directly over the zipper of his uncomfortable denim pants.

The plane took off not fifteen minutes later, guided by Linder's skillful control.

Near nodded off, waiting.

- - -

"_Fuck...Matt..."_ The moan came out on a ragged growl as Mello arched his back off the comfort of the seat and into a near perfect bend; his head thrown back brought his gaze to the light console above his head, but the blackness pressing down on the edges of his vision took away the banal and made it extrasensory.

There was tingling in his head, not enough air in his lungs and Matt's hot mouth all around his cock.

_"Fuck, fuck, FUCK!" _He panted, barely hearing Matt's chuckle--rather, he felt it, as a pleasant vibration. He clenched his jaw, his fingers digging into the sides of his seat. Breath puffed between his lips as he fought to keep a top on it. He risked a glance downward, loving how hot Matt looked on his knees.

Matt laughed again, at Mello's expression no doubt. The vibrations stole down the blonde's length and made him hiss.

_"Fuck Matty--_do that again. _Now._"

Matt's lips tipped high like the Cheshire Cat's and he spent the next ten minutes humming the British national anthem around Mello's twitching, swollen member. It was almost taboo, except they didn't give a damn about that.

On the last bar, Mello's entire body went rigid, his back arching higher than before and his hips thrusting powerfully into Matt's waiting mouth.

And like a cat with his cream, Matt drank it all down with that same be-damned smirk.

- - -

It took ten minutes--or less, who knows--for Mello to recover his rational thought process. He came to looking at the light console and taking deep, dragging breaths. His hair was sticking to his slightly dampened skin in some places and his pants were unbuttoned and unzipped, his flaccid penis lying against his thigh.

Matt was seated next to his, one leg crossed over the other's knee and a cigarette burning between his fingers in blatant defiance of the red-lit sign overhead.

"I love watching you go soft, Mel." He took a drag on his cigarette. "It just says, 'Job Well-Done, Matty-boy'." He blew smoke through his pursed lips, watching Mello the whole time with those fuck-you-anywhere eyes. "It's damn gratifying."

Mello didn't say anything, just keep watching Matt smoke his cigarette. There was always something so sexual about it; just watching Matt smoke made Mello crave that mouth on his cock again. The way those perfect lips closed over the filter-end mimicked the smooth-sweet way they slipped over the head of Mello's ...

Matt's fingers broke air between them, startling Mello with the snap. "What the hell," he grumbled, "I was looking at you."

"Yea, you were looking Mel...like you wanted to eat me." Matt gave him a sly smile, "But, if you recall, it's my month to be on top, thanks." He shook his head a bit, "Don't think just because we've got little tag-along-Teddy over there that you're off the hook." He laughed a bit under his breath.

Mello fixed his pants, slipping himself back inside neatly and refastening the buttons and zipper. "Yea, yea...keep laughing, you prick."

Matt's eyes went dark with fire, "You didn't seem to mind my laughing a bit ago, sweetheart."

A pause.

"I'm going to sleep now, asshole. Go bother the shrimp and leave me be." Mello rolled onto his side, facing the window and plating both feet against the wall in front of him. He closed his eyes deliberately to distract from the sunshine flowing like water over the clouds outside the window.

Matt touched the skin of his lower back where his vest rode up. "Sleep tight, Mel-love." He traced a little circle there, across the warm flesh--then rose to go away.

Just at the edge of ear-shot and the verge of passing out, Mello said, "Love you."

Matt grinned, "Ditto, beautiful."

Mello faded out of consciousness with a smile.

- - -

Near rarely dreamed--but when he did, they came in only two varieties. They expressed tendencies that accompanied the boy in his waking state, but which were never given attention nor credence.

There were dreams over toys, and of playing with toys. Of stacking blocks for the sheer hell of it, not because he needed a clever visual aid to explain a strategy to his agents. He _never_ dreamed of strategy; he was in need of no such forethought.

He dreamed of dealing cards with unknown friends and of rolling dice across a card-board playing field, littered with shiny metal figurines. He imagined that, perhaps one day, he might convince someone to play a game with him.

A natural, non-leathal sort of affair, yes?

Those dreams--of toys and games--they were easily understood and put aside. They were facets of the boy that Near could not be--would never be--because he would not allow such a thing. He had no time for games for their own sake; no playmates to while-away the hours between one globally-important case and the next. Frankly, he was sure that he didn't need playmates, nor companions.

But he was human on the inside, sometimes, and he dreamed as such, on occasion.

The other type of dream was not so easy to dismiss, partly because it was more realistic--more a re-lived fantasy on repeat--than the toy dreams. These dreams were of companionship and hot, hot, heat. Of feeling sensations and giving in to certain temptations--desires, bodily wants--that had always plagued him.

Plagued him, but rarely ever _conquered_ him.

But there were _times_.

Six years ago, he gave in. To Mello, in closets and under staircases; in the blonde's darkened bedroom and in the bushes of the ever-green Wammy-grounds. On the floor of the playroom, surrounded by the ruins of the block-tower they destroyed when Mello tackled him.

Their interactions were hot and about the bodily need; about the undeniable, but annoying desire they felt to rip into one another, hands and teeth first. To rend and plunge. For Mello, it was to bury himself inside Near until the boy hissed at him. For Near, it was to make Mello beg for the pleasure of his service; to make him _crave_ his tongue and his touch.

It wasn't very pretty and it wasn't very kind, but it was sex and that was how they learned it, in the beginning.

Until Matt.

_Ah, Matt..._

There, on the plane--Near dreamed that second type of dream...

...and dreamed of Matt.

- - -

_He hated jeans. Hated the stiff denim chafing against his thighs and the unyielding seams that restricted his every movement. Jeans were nothing like his softer draw-strings. God, he wanted them __off__._

_Long fingers tugged knowingly at the waist band of the damned pants, nails tapping against the copper button and scratching at the zipper. He angled his hips up, offering the offending clothing up for the shredding. He wanted them __ripped__ off, to have nothing left but tatters._

_Those_ _hands skimmed over his hips as they tugged the slightly-too-big jeans downward a bit, all with Near's encouragement. The boy bit his lip and shut his eyes. The torture of wearing the denim was __excruciating__, reeking hell and havoc all over Near's tactilely oversensitive body._

_A breath puff across his face, warm and cinnamon-scented. The hands and fingers which were stripping him of the evil clothing inch by inch suddenly dipped lower to rub whirls in the hollows of his hip bones in a way that made his back arch. He gave a whispered cry, because only two people knew how he liked it..._

_The calloused fingers gave way to an impression and there was suddenly an image of burgundy hair and blue-green eyes. Of a smile and lips he drank of, tasting gray smoke like a small waterfall. _

_Matt..._

_"Near..."_

_- - -_

Lashes fluttered upward over blue-silver eyes, though the fog of slumber had yet to clear properly. Still, the sensation was familiar, however long-unfelt. A pair of warm hands slipping low over his hips, thumbs rubbing into the dips there; a slick, hot tongue tracing the curve of his outer ear and the scent of cigarette smoke lingering in the air around him.

"Matt..." he whispered.

"Ah, _Near_," came the soft reply, syllables brushing directly over his cheekbones as Matt pressed a half-kiss there. "How have you been, punk?"

A breath skittered between the smaller boys lips, "As expected..." He rolled his head across the seat, turning his eyes toward the wall and away from the sight of Matt. "Has Mello bored you so thoroughly already?"

There's a chuckle--warm and hot at once--in his ear. "Hm, no, of course not. He's asleep. We were having a pleasant conversation before that, though. See?"

Near made the mistake and fell for the oldest trick in their long history--he looked back and Matt captured his lips under his own hungrily, forcing his way inside with that clever tongue and his fingers pressing around Near's jaw. The red-head made a sound that was distinctly pleasurable, reminding them both of what _exactly_ they'd lost over the years.

On Matt's tongue, in his kiss, there's the taste and scent of his particular brand of cigarettes; of smoke and something different; of salt and numbness. A taste Near hadn't had on his own tongue in such a very long time, even longer than...

He pulled away, staring up into Matt's devious eyes with his ice-water gaze.

"That, Matthew, was uncalled for."

Matt's lips crooked upward in a smile, "Don't pretend you don't miss his taste, kid; you miss it almost as much as you miss mine." His fingers pressed into the side of Near's jaw still, massaging idly. "Of course, the way I think of it, you probably have to miss mine more since you usually didn't have to bleed for the privilege."

Lips too young to look so cruel tilted, "There's naught wrong with a little blood-letting, every now and then."

Matt's laughter was quiet, smooth like smoke. "Fuck, I'd forgotten what a twisted little pervert you are, Near. I think I'm gonna like reacquainting myself to the habit."

A single, pale eyebrow arched against a paler forehead, "Oh? The assumption that you'll be given the chance to 'reacquaint' yourself appears unfounded."

This time, Matt pulled all the way back, standing now in the aisle beside Near's seat. The curvature of his lips was calculatedly arrogant.

"We'll see, punk. I'm always three steps ahead and you're always one ahead of that, so don't try to fool _me_ into thinking you haven't got some grand master plan behind all of this."

Near's face did not change expression at all, "As I've said before, Matthew--you overestimate my own devious nature. I'm _fairly sure_ I am not possessed of one at all, actually."

"Sure, sure, kid. Who ya trying to convince?" And with that, the red-head turned and sauntered away.

Behind him, Near's lips curved upward and his eyes flittered down toward the floor; one hand rose to curl in his hair as the other wrapped around his own ankle, holding himself still in that fashion.

And despite whatever he might have said, the smirk he wore was distinctly _devious_.


End file.
